


The Cycle Of Suffering Goes On

by Silent_So_Long



Category: The Hollow Crown (2012)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:44:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry calls for Catherine to attend him in the throne room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cycle Of Suffering Goes On

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from lyrics included in the song “Blackbird”, as written and performed by Alter Bridge, which is coincidentally one of my most favourite songs in the world.

The throne room was cold and draughty, darkness illumined only by candles placed in strategic places and guttering in the breezes that wended their way through the cracks in the castle’s brickwork. Catherine’s shoes made slapping sounds against the stone flooring, echoing from the mostly unadorned walls surrounding them; the noises made her petite frame seem larger than it actually was. 

Henry watched her come closer, thinking as he did so that he’d quite forgotten how beautiful the French lady was; in his prolonged absence in France, surrounded by the horrors of war on a daily basis, he knew it was no wonder that he’d forgotten, guilty though that made him feel. He sighed, and tried not to show his mounting excitement, nor his growing arousal; he knew he had to act the part of the patient and penitent king at all times, even with his own wife initially. After all, they barely even knew each other; they had not had much chance to exchange more than a scant few conversations since their wedding day, although Henry remembered those conversations to be amusing and scintillating. He couldn’t help but be charmed by her girlish gigglings, so animated and lively after the doom and gloom of those that normally surrounded him; he knew he needed her vivaciousness now to help him forget the war. 

She curtseyed when she reached him, eyes never leaving his face, and he saw in her eyes curiosity, wonderment, even a sense of longing, as though Catherine was genuinely curious and intrigued by him instead of repulsed by the man she barely knew in turn. It gave him hope that there might be some basis to their marriage after all, that she hadn’t entirely entered unwillingly into this, and that she’d seen something in his countenance that was pleasing to her. 

“You wished to see me, my king?” she asked, in halting English, her accent making her words ever more charming and refined.

“We are alone now, my prithee. You might wish to call me Henry. We are, after all, wedded now,” Henry said, as he bade her come closer. 

She padded forwards, hands gripping her skirts and the rustling of silken material reached his ears. He saw that the rich fabric had been bordered with fur, white-and-grey coloured ermine that complimented the darker wine of the silk and looked soft to the touch. He longed to run his hands along that ermine, to reach up and run fingers through her hair to see if it was as soft as the trimmings of her dress, to caress her body and hoped to find it yielding and willing. 

“Henri,” Catherine said, immediately pronouncing his name in the French manner, which made Henry chuckle to himself. 

She smiled prettily at him, although in a confused way, as though she didn’t know what she had said or done to amuse him so. 

“I love the way that you speak my name,” he said, gently, as he beckoned for her to come forward. “That is all that I was laughing at. I did not wish to offend you.” 

“Non, I was not offended,” she said, with an expansive shrug, before indicating with a tilt of her head towards him that she’d merely been curious. 

Henry nodded, and watched the way the candles glittered in her eyes, sending small sparks of beautiful diamond-sharp fire dancing within their depths. She really was very pretty, he could see and he wondered how far he could push her. He didn’t wish to ask for too much, after all, she was still not quite his to take. Married though they were, they still were relative strangers and Henry knew himself to be a fool if he forgot that. 

“Might I partake of a kiss from my fair maiden, perchance?” he asked, hopefully. “One to welcome a long returning husband home from the war.” 

Catherine made a noise of assent, even though her cheeks were stained with the blush of her embarrassment; she came closer and pecked a kiss upon both cheeks.

“It is good to have you home,” she said, cordially.

“That is very bewitching, I am sure, yet not quite the kiss I was hoping for,” he said. “Perhaps that is one that you would employ to greet a friend or vague acquaintance, but it is not a kiss that you would use to greet the one that you are wedded to. I have let the wind carry me home from war, and yet still the cycle of suffering goes on; I would have that kiss, my lady, to prove that my flight home was worthy. ” 

She blushed again and seemed ready to bolt, yet his patient, unwavering gaze urged her on. Catherine nodded; although she could not avoid more intimate relations with the man she was married to, she knew that in that one moment, he was not asking for anything more from her than a kiss. She settled in his lap when he indicated that he wished her to sit down; the distinct smell of him was unfamiliar to her, yet not unpleasing, she found. She could smell horses, and fatigue, and the smell of the wind sweeping over open spaces and the heavier scents of the leather jerkin that he wore, soft and buttery looking in the meagre light. Catherine noted with some pleasure that the shade of his jerkin matched her own dress almost exactly, as if by chance they’d coordinated their outfits. 

She leant in, screwing up every last piece of courage she possessed, and pressed her mouth to his; Henry’s lips were surprisingly soft against her own, his beard tickly and rough against her skin. The kiss itself was not unpleasant, and Catherine drew away, to dip her head and avert her gaze demurely from his. That she’d pleased him was obvious, yet he did not press her for more. 

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmured, as he looked at her. “I am uncommonly pleased by your countenance.” 

“Thank you, kind sir. Henri,” Catherine said, correcting herself at the last minute as she raised her gaze to his once more. 

Henry nodded, before he said - “I am tired, my pretty one. Would you do the honour of accompanying me to our rooms? I wish to sleep beside you for the night.” 

She looked a little alarmed, yet nodded at his level gaze. They did not touch more than necessary, Catherine too shy still and Henry not wishing to scare her with unseemly gestures, until Catherine herself was ready for them. 

And so the routine continued. Henry sent for Catherine to attend to him on the throne when all others were abed; she came willingly enough, shy at first and then more boldly, kisses turning to caresses, becoming ever more presumptuous as the nights wore on. Catherine’s hair was as soft as it looked and her body as willing as Henry had hoped for, yielding easily to his as he touched her, fingers working everywhere upon her, teasingly brushing against breast coquettishly at first and then more forwardly. She permitted the touches a little stiffly at first and then more lustily, until he knew he could press his advantage a little further.

Catherine often wore velvet or silk when she came to him, both styles trimmed in either feathers or fur; despite the smoothness of the silken dresses against his skin, Henry always preferred her to wear velvet, soft napped and gentle against his palms and his face whenever he dared to bend down to kiss her breasts. He liked to nuzzle his face in amongst the fur trim, and the feathers both, soft edging pleasurable against his skin; each movement of his face so close to her breasts always made Catherine laugh breathlessly, body ever more yielding and malleable against him. 

The red velvet she soon favoured warmed the tones of her skin, dark against the pink perfection of her; Catherine seemed to take his compliments kindly and wore more wine coloured velvet especially for him. She’d also continuously picked a colour that seemed in direct compliment to his own wine coloured jerkin that he often preferred to wear, a perfect match in shade if not material; hers was more soft and yielding just as she was, while his was more stiff, although when it came to Catherine, only one part of him could be described as being that way. 

At Henry’s first suggestion of what he wished her to do, Catherine seemed scandalised, yet at his patient, waiting stare, she nodded, before she knelt between his spread legs; he helped her with removing his codpiece and easing himself out of his trousers for her. She seemed to shy away a little, before obviously steeling herself; the light of the candles in the throne room guttered and threw beautiful warming light over her as she bent closer. He sighed at the first brush of her lips against him, mouth opening to take him into her mouth; her movements were slow and uncoordinated at first, awkward manoeuvrings of lips against cock until suddenly, a natural rhythm kicked in and she began pleasuring him in earnest. He groaned, eyes closing as his head thunked back against the hard unyielding back of the throne, losing himself to the feel of his wife‘s mouth around him. 

Henry rested one hand upon the back of her head, yet did not apply pressure. Instead, he allowed her to set the pace, to decide for herself just what she was comfortable with; the time for asking for more would come later. 

The weight of Henry in her mouth was unfamiliar to her, yet not displeasing to Catherine. The feel of leather beneath Catherine’s fingers was just as disconcerting at first, stiff after the familiar softness of her own velvet and silken dresses, yet she knew that she would soon become accustomed to the unfamiliar material. The scent of Henry’s clothing filled her senses, so much so that she knew she would always associate that smell with him and with what they were doing now. The groans that fell from the king’s open mouth were loud and full of pleasure, so Catherine knew that she was doing something right. 

She sucked, learning with scant manoeuvring of lips and tongue against his length the places that produced the most noise, yet still she was surprised at the rapidity with which he came, release filling her mouth with the sharp salty essence of him. She drew away, swallowing quickly and saw the wrecked look upon Henry’s face, the lax expression of sated pleasure darkening his eyes. He smiled at her and it was a good smile; she was bold enough to settle on his lap of her own free will, which amused and pleased him in equal turns. 

“I did good?” she asked.

“Aye, you have pleased me greatly, ma cherie,” he said, slipping into effortless French.

Catherine smiled in pleasure, before daring to lean in and kiss him again. She felt the leather of his jerkin creaking beneath her hands with every movement he made, arching up to capture her mouth in a kiss when she attempted to draw away; she allowed that secondary kiss, hands moving over the soft, buttery leather to clasp at the nape of his neck, fingers snarling in the hair that curled over his collar. Henry traced his thumbs over the fur around her collar, before smiling again at her. 

“Perhaps tomorrow night, we shall disperse from the throne room and take this into the bedroom proper, what say you, my lady?” he asked, blue eyes twinkling up at her. “How does that suit you?” 

“That suits me very well, Henri,” she purred, reaching up to cup his cheek gently. 

Despite the frisson of nervousness that coiled in her gut at finally being able to sleep with her king and her husband, Catherine couldn’t help but feel excited also. Henry grinned, that one expression changing his face into one of pure boyish joy; Catherine could see what he must have looked like when but a carefree youth. 

“That suits me, too; it suits me very well, in fact,” he said, before falling silent to nuzzle at her neck gently.


End file.
